“Hullo!” cried Coles. “What is it? Who’s there?”
There was distinct vexation in his voice. For one moment Henry quailed. There was no doubt whatever that Coles was the best drop-kick in the school.
Next moment Bobbie had explained. There was a dramatic pause. Henry trembled with excitement. At last he heard movement inside the study and Coles’ voice saying:
“All right, send him in.”
The moment had come. Henry set his teeth, and with one hand at his coat-tails surreptitiously ready to protect himself and every nerve alert, he walked stiffly to the door and went in.
As he stood there facing Coles and Coles’ cronies he remembered the day when he had been a fag himself. Everything was so oddly similar. He could just imagine Slade in Coles’ chair and Black standing watchfully beside him. Things had not changed very much. History seemed likely to repeat itself. He did not know that his eyes looked wide and terror-stricken with the strain of nervous tension. He was not really afraid. Nobody likes being kicked, of course, but with Henry it was the dread uncertainty of not knowing whether he was going to be or not that was so upsetting.
Coles rose to his feet.
“Pointon wants me?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all he said ... he just wanted me?”